 10. So the days passed, and the nights, and more days, and more nights. July, August, August, on and on and on. Strenuous, nerve-wracking, heart-breaking surgical days, broken meritably only by the pleasant, soft-worded greeting at the gate, or the practical, homely appeal of good food cooked with heart as well as hands, or the tingling, inciting, masculine consciousness of there being a woman's blush in the house. Strenuous, house-working, child-nursing, home-making domestic days, broken meritably only by the jaded, harsh word at the gate, the explosive criticism of food, the deadening, depressing, feminine consciousness of there being a man's vicious temper in the house. Now and again in one big automobile, or another, the white linen nurse and the senior surgeon rode out together, always and forever with the little crippled girl, sitting between them, the other woman's little crippled girl. Now and again in the late summer afternoons, the white linen nurse and the senior surgeon strolled together through the rainbow-colored garden, always and forever with the little crippled girl, the other woman's little crippled girl, tagging close behind them with her little sad, clanking leg. Now and again in the long sweet summer evenings, the white linen nurse and the senior surgeon sat on the clematis-shadowed porch together, always and forever with the little crippled girl, the other woman's little crippled girl, mocking them quarrelously from some vague upper window. Now and again across the mutually ghost-haunted chasm that separated them flashed the incontrovertible signal of sex and sense, as once, when a new intern grossly bungling, stepped to the hospital window with a colleague to watch the senior surgeon's car roll away as usual with its two feminine passengers. What makes the chief so stingy with that big handsome girl of his? Quarid the new intern a bit resentfully. He won't ever bring her into the hospital, won't ever ask any of us young chaps out to his house, and some of us come mighty near to being eligible too. Who's he saving her for anyway, a saint, a miracle worker, a millionaire medicine man? They don't exist, you know. I'm saving her for myself, snapped the senior surgeon most disconsertingly from the doorway. She, she happens to be my wife, not my daughter, thank you. When the senior surgeon went home that night, he carried a big bunch of magazines and a box of candy as large as his head, tucked, courtingly under his arm. Now and again across the chasm that separated them, flashed the uncontrovertible signal of mutual trust and appreciation, as when once, after a particularly violent vocal outburst on the senior surgeon's part, he sobered down very suddenly and said, Ray Mel Gregor, do you realize that in all the weeks we've been together, you've never once nagged me about my swearing. Not a word, not a single word. I'm not very used to words. Smiled the white linen nurse, hopefully. All I know how to nag with this is raw eggs, if we could only get those nerves of yours padded just once, sir, the swearing would get well of itself. In August the senior surgeon suggested sincerely that the house was much too big for the white linen nurse to run all alone, but conceded equally sincerely under the white linen nurse's vehement protest. That servant's, particularly new servant's, did creak considerably around a house, and that may be just for the present at least, until he finished his very nervous paper on brain tumors. Perhaps it would be better to stay just by ourselves. In September the white linen nurse wanted very much to go home to Nova Scotia to her sister's wedding, but the senior surgeon was trying a very complicated and worrisome new brace on the little girl's leg, and it didn't seem quite kind to go. In October she planned her trip all over again. She was going to take the little crippled girl with her this time, but with their trunks already packed and waiting in the hall, the senior surgeon came home from the hospital with a septic finger, and it didn't seem quite best to leave him. Well, how do you like being married now? Asked the senior surgeon a bit ironically in his work room that night, after the white linen nurse had stood for an hour with evil smelling washes and interminable bandages trying to fix that finger the precise particular way that he thought it ought to be fixed. Well, how do you like being married now? He insisted trenchantly. Oh, I like it all right, sir, said the white linen nurse. A little bit wonly this time she smiled her pluck up into the senior surgeon's questioning face. Oh, I like it all right, sir. Oh, of course, sir, she confided thoughtfully. Oh, of course, sir, it isn't quite as fancy as being engaged or quite as free and easy as being single, but still she admitted with desperate honesty, but still there's a sort of a sort of a combination importance and and comfort about it, sir, like a like a velvet suit the second year, sir. Quizzed that all. Quizzed the senior surgeon bluntly. That's all so far, sir, said the white linen nurse. In November the white linen nurse caught a bit of cold that pulled her down a little, but the senior surgeon didn't notice it especially among all the virulent ills he lived and worked with from day to day, and then when the cold disappeared Indian summer came like a reeking sweat after a chill, and the house was big, and the little crippled girl was pretty difficult to manage now and then, and the senior surgeon, no matter how hard he tried not to, did succeed somehow in creating more or less of a disturbance, at least every other day or two. And then suddenly one balmy golden crimson Indian summer morning standing out on the piazza trying to hear what the little crippled girl was calling from the window, and what the senior surgeon was calling from the gate, the white linen nurse fell right down in her tracks, brutally, bulkily, like a worn out horse, and lay as she fell, a huddled white heap across the gray piazza. Oh, Father, come quick! Come quick! Peach has deaded herself, yelled the little girl's frantic voice. Just with his foot on the step of his car the senior surgeon heard the cry and came speeding back up the long walk. Already there before him the little girl knelt, reigning passionate, agonized kisses on her beloved playmate's ghastly white face. Leave her alone! thundered the senior surgeon. Leave her alone, I say! Brusley he pushed the little girl aside and knelt to cradle his own ear against the white linen nurse's heart. Oh, it's all right! He growled and gathered the white linen nurse right up in his arms. She was startlingly lighter than he had supposed, and carried her up the stairs and put her to bed, like a child in the great sumptuous guest room, in a great sumptuous nest of all the best linens and blankets, with the little crippled girl subprintending the task with many hysterical suggestions and sharp staccato interruptions. For once in his life the senior surgeon did not stop to quarrel with his daughter. Rallying limply from her swoon the white linen nurse stared out with hazy perplexity at last from her dimpling white pillows to see the senior surgeon standing amazingly at the guest room bureau with a glass and a medicine dropper in his hand, and the little crippled girl hanging apparently by her narrow peaked chin across the footboard of the bed. Gazing downwardly at the laser-ruffled sleeve of her night-dress, the white linen nurse made her first public speech to the world at large. Who put me to bed? whispered the white linen nurse. Ecstatically the little crippled girl began to pound her fists on the footboard of the bed. Father did! she cried in unmistakable triumph. All the little hooks, all the little buttons, wasn't it cunning? The senior surgeon would hardly have been human if he hadn't glanced back suddenly over his shoulder at the white linen nurse's precipitously changing colour. Quite irrepressibly as he saw the red, red blood come surging home again into her cheeks, a little short, chuckling laugh escaped him. I guess you live now! he remarked dryly. Then because a senior surgeon can't stay home on the mere impulse of the moment from a great rushing hospital, just because one member of his household happens to faint perfectly innocently in the morning, he hurried on to his work again, and saved a little boy and lost a little girl, and mended a fractured thigh and eased a gunshot wound, and came dashing home at noon in one of his thousand-dollar hours to feel the white linen nurse's pulse, and broil her a bit of tenderloin steak with his own thousand-dollar hands, and then went dashing off again to do one major operation or another. Telephoned home once or twice during the afternoon to make sure that everything was all right, and finding that the white linen nurse was comfortably up and about again, went sprinting off fifty miles somewhere on a meningitis consultation, and came dragging home at last somewhere near midnight to a big black house brightened only by a single light in the kitchen where the white linen nurse went tiptoeing softly, from stove to pantry in deft preparation of an appetizing supper for him. Quite roughly again, without smile or appreciation, the senior surgeon took her by the shoulders and turned her out of the kitchen and started her up the stairs. Are you an idiot? he said. Are you an imbecile? He came back and called up the stairs to her just as she was disappearing from the upper landing. Then up and down, round and round, on and on and on, the senior surgeon began suddenly to pace again. Only for some unexplainable reason to the white linen nurse upstairs, his work room didn't seem quite large enough for his pacing this night. Along the broad piazza she heard his footsteps creak. Far far into the morning, lying warm and snug in her own little bed, she heard his footsteps crackling through the wet, leafed garden paths. He had the senior surgeon didn't look an atom-jaded or forlorn when he came down to breakfast the next morning. He had on a brand-new gray suit that fitted his big, powerful shoulders to perfection, and the glad glow of his shower-bath was still reddening faintly in his cheeks as he swung around the corner of the table and dropped down into his place with an odd little grin on his lips directed intermittently towards the white linen nurse and the little crippled girl who already waited him there at either end of the table. Oh, Father, isn't it lovely to have my darling, darling peach all well again? Beamed the little crippled girl with unusual friendliness. Speaking of your darling peach, said the senior surgeon quite abruptly, speaking of your darling peach, I'm going to take her away with me today for a week or so. Eh? jumped the little crippled girl. What? What, sir? stammered the white linen nurse. Quite prosely the senior surgeon began to butter piece of toast, but the little twinkle around his eyes belied in some way the utter prosiness of the act. For a little trip he confided amably a little holiday. A trifle excitedly the white linen nurse lay down her knife and fork and stared at him, blue-eyed and wandering as a child. A holiday, she gasped. To a beach, you mean? Will there be a rollercoaster? I've never seen a rollercoaster. Eh? laughed the senior surgeon. Oh, I'm going to! I'm going to! Piped the little crippled girl. Most jerkily the senior surgeon pushed back his chair from the table and swallowed half a cup of coffee at one single gulp. Going three, you mean? He glowered at his little daughter. Going three? His comment, that in suit was distinctly rough as far as diction was concerned, but the facial expression of naffable peace that accompanied it would have made almost any phrase sound like a benediction. Not by a damned sight, beamed the senior surgeon. This little trip is just for Peach and me. But sir, fluttered the white linen nurse, her face was suddenly pinker than any rose that ever bloomed. With an impulse absolutely novel to him the senior surgeon turned and swung his little daughter very gently to his shoulder. Your aunt Agnes is coming to stay with you in just about ten minutes, he affirmed. That's what's going to happen to you and maybe there'll be a pony, a white pony. But Peach is so pleasant, wailed the little crippled girl. Peach is so pleasant, she began to scream and kick. So it seems, growled the senior surgeon, and she's dying of it. Tearfully the little girl wriggled down to the ground and hobbled around and thrust her fingertip into the white linen nurse's blushiest cheek. I don't want Peach to die, she admitted wordly, but I don't want anybody to take her away. The pony is very white, urged the senior surgeon with a diplomacy quite alien to him. Appruptly the little girl turned and faced him. What color is Aunt Agnes? She asked vehemently. Aunt Agnes is pretty white too, attested the senior surgeon. With a faintest possible tinge of superciliousness the little girl lifted her sharp chin a trifle higher. If it's just a perfectly plain white pony, she said, I'd rather have Peach. But if it's a white pony with black blots on it, and if it can pull a little cart, and if I can whip it with a little switch, and if it will eat sugar lumps out of my hand, and if its name is, is, beautiful pretty thing. Its name has always been beautiful pretty thing, I'm quite sure. She insisted the senior surgeon. Inadvertently as he spoke he reached out and put a hand very lightly on the white linen nurse's shoulder. Instantly into the little girl's suspicious face flushed a furiously uncontrollable flame of jealousy and resentment. Madly she turned upon her father. You're a liar. She screamed. There is no white pony. You're a robber. You're a, a drunk. You shan't have my darling Peach. And threw herself frenziedly into the white linen nurse's lap. Impatiently the senior surgeon disentangled the little clinging arms and raising the white linen nurse to her feet pushed her emphatically towards the hall. Go to my workroom, he said. Quickly I want to talk with you. A moment later he joined her there and shut and locked the door behind him. The previous night's loss of sleep showed plainly in his face now, and the hospital strain of the day before, and of the day before that, and of the day before that. Heavily, moodily he crossed the room and threw himself down in his desk chair with the white linen nurse still standing before him as though she were nothing but a white linen nurse. All the splendor was suddenly gone from him, all the radiance, all the exultant purpose. Well, Ray Malgreger, he grinned mirthlessly. The little kid is right, though. I certainly don't know where she got her information. I am a liar. The pony's name is not yet a beautiful pretty thing. I am a drunk. I was drunk most of June. I am a robber. I have taken you out of your youth and the love chances of your youth and shut you up here in this great gloomy old house of mine to be my slave and my child's slave and... Poof! said the white linen nurse. It would seem silly now, sir, to marry a boy. And I've been a beast to you, persisted as senior surgeon. From the very first day you belonged to me I've been a beast to you, venting brutally on your youth, on your sweetness, on your patience, all the work, the worry, the wear and tear, the abnormal strain and stress of my disordered days and years. And I've let my little girl vent also on you, all the pang and pain of her disordered days. And because in this great gloomy, rackety house it seemed suddenly like a miracle from heaven to have service that was soft-footed, gentle-handed, pleasant-hearted, I've let you shoulder all the hideous drudgery, the care, one horrid homely task after another piling up, up, up till you dropped in your tracks yesterday, still smiling. But I've got a good deal out of it, even so, sir. protested the white linen nurse. See, sir, she smiled. I've got real lines in my face now, like other women. I'm not a doll any more. I'm not a... yes, groaned the senior surgeon, and I might just as kindly have carved those lines with my knife. But I was going to make it all up to you, to-day. He hurried. I swear I was. Even in one short, little week I could have done it. You wouldn't have known me. I was going to take you away, just you and me. I would have been a saint. I swear I would. I would have given you such a great, wonderful, child-hearted holiday that you'd never dreamed of in all your unselfish life. A holiday. All you. You. You. You could have dug in the sand if you'd wanted to. God, I'd have dug in the sand if you'd wanted me to. And now it's all gone for me. All the will, all the sheer positive self-assurance that I could have carried the thing through. Absolutely selflessly. That little girl's sneering taunt. The ghost of her mother in that taunt. God. When anybody knocks you just in your decency, it doesn't harm you, especially. But when they knock you and you're wanting to be decent, it undermines you somewhere. I don't know exactly how. I'm nothing but a man again, now. Just a plain, everyday, greedy, covetous, physical man on the edge of a holiday, the first clean holiday in twenty years that he no longer dares to take. A little swayingly, the white linen nurse after standing weight from one foot to the other. I'm sorry, sir, said the white linen nurse. I'd like to have seen a roller coaster, sir. Just for an instant a gleam of laughter went brightening across a senior surgeon's brooding face and was gone again. Ray Malgreger, come here. He ordered quite sharply. Very softly, very glidingly, like the footfall of a person who has never known heels, the white linen nurse came forward swiftly and, sliding in cautiously between the senior surgeon and his desk, stood there with her back braced against the desk, her fingers straying idly up and down the edges of the desk, staring up into his face all readiness, all attention like a soldier awaiting further orders. So near was she that he could almost hear the velvet heartthrob of her, the little fluttering swallow, yet by some strange persistent aloofness of her, some determinate virginity, not a fold of her gown, not an edge, not a thread seemed to even so much as graze his knee, seemed to even so much as shadow his hand, lest its short circuit thereby the seething currents of their variant emotions. With extraordinary intentness for a moment the senior surgeon sat staring into the girl's eyes, the blue-blue eyes too full of childish questioning yet to flinch with either consciousness or embarrassment. After all, Ray MalGregor—he smiled at last faintly— after all, Ray MalGregor, heaven knows when I shall ever get another holiday. Yes, sir, said the white linen nurse. With apparent irrelevance he reached for his ivory paper cutter and began bending it dangerously between his adept fingers. How long have you been with me, Ray MalGregor? He asked quite abruptly. Four months, actually, with you, sir, said the white linen nurse. Do you happen to remember the exact phrasing of my proposal of marriage to you? He asked shrewdly. Oh, yes, sir, said the white linen nurse. You called it general hard work for a family of two. A little grimly before her steady gaze, the senior surgeon's own eyes fell and rallied again almost instantly with a gaze as even and direct as hers. Well, he smiled. Through the whole four months I seem to have kept my part of the contract all right and held you merely as a drudge in my home. Have you then decided, once and for all time, whether you are going to stay on with us or whether you will give notice as other drudges have done? With a little backward droop of one shoulder the white linen nurse began to finger nervously at the desk behind her and turning halfway round as though to estimate what damage she was doing, exposed thus merely the profile of her pink face of her wide throat to the senior surgeon's questioning eyes. I shall never give notice, sir, fluttered the wide throat. Are you perfectly sure? insisted the senior surgeon. The pink in the white linen nurse's profiled cheek deepened a little. Perfectly sure, sir, attested the Carmine lips. Like the crack of a pistol the senior surgeon snapped the ivory paper cutter in two. All right, then, he said, Raymal Gregor, look at me. Don't take your eyes from mine, I say. Raymal Gregor, if I should decide in my own mind here and now that it was best for you as well as for me that you should come away with me now for this week not as my guest as I had planned, but as my wife even if you were not quite ready for it in your heart, even if you were not yet remotely ready for it, would you come because I told you to come? Heavily under her white, white eyelids, heavily under her black, black lashes, the girl's eyes struggled up to meet his own. Yes, sir, whispered the white linen nurse. Abruptly the senior surgeon pushed back his chair from the desk and stood up. The important decision once made no further finessing of words seemed either necessary or dignified to him. Go and pack your suitcase quickly, then. He ordered, I want to get away from here within half an hour. But before the girl had half-crossed the room he called to her suddenly. His whole bearing and manner miraculously changed and his face in that moment as haggard as if a whole lifetime struggle was packed into it. Raymel Greger. He drawled mockingly. This thing shall be barred her way through to the end with the credit always on your side of the account. In exchange for the gift of yourself, your wonderful self and the trust that goes with it I will give you, God help me, the ugliest thing in my life. And God knows I have broken faith with myself once or twice, never have I broken my word to another. From now on, in token of your trust in me for whatever the bitter gift is worth to you, as long as you stay with me, my junes shall be yours to do with as you please. What, sir? gasped the white linen nurse. What, sir? Softly, almost stealthily, she was half-way back across the room to him when she stopped suddenly and threw out her arms with a gesture of appeal and defiance. All the same, sir. She cried passionately. All the same, sir. The place is too hard for the small pay I get. Oh, I will do what I promised. She attested with increasing passion. I will never leave you. And I will, mother, your little girl. And I will serve into your big house and I will go with you wherever you say. And I will be to you whatever you wish. And I will never flinch from any hardship you impose on me, nor whine over any pain. On and on and on all my days, all my years, till I drop in my tracks again and die, as you say, still smiling. All the same. She reiterated wildly. The place is too hard. It always was too hard. It always will be too hard for such small pay. For such small pay? gasped the senior surgeon. Around his heart a horrid, clammy chill began to settle. Sickeningly through his brain a dozen recent financial transactions began to rehearse themselves. You mean, Miss Malgreger? He said a bit brokenly. You mean that I haven't been generous enough with you? Yes, sir. Faltered the white linen nurse. All the storm and passion died suddenly from her, leaving her just a frightened girl again, flushing pink, white, pink, white, pink, white, before the senior surgeon scathing stare. One step, two steps, three she advanced towards him. I mean, sir. She whispered, Oh, I mean, sir, that I'm just an ordinary ignorant country girl and you are further above me than the moon from the sea. I couldn't expect you to love me, sir. I couldn't even dream of your loving me. But I do think you might like me just a little bit with your heart. What? flushed the senior surgeon. What? Wickedly bang against the window pane sounded the little crippled girl's knuckled fists. Darkly against the window pane squashed the little crippled girl's staring face. Father! screamed the shrill voice. Father, there's a white lady here with two black ladies washing the breakfast dishes. Is it on Dagnus? With a totally unexpected laugh, with a totally unexpected desire to laugh, the senior surgeon strode across the room and unlocked his door. Even then, his lips against the white linen nurse's ear made just a whisper, not a kiss. God bless you. Hurry! He said, And let's get out of here before any telephone message catches me. Then almost calmly he walked out on the piazza and greeted his sister-in-law. Hello, Agnes. He said, Hello, yourself. Smiled his sister-in-law. How's everything? He inquired politely. How's everything with you? Parried his sister-in-law. I'd leave for a few moments the senior surgeon threw out stray crumbs of thought to feed the conversation. While smilingly all the while from her luxuriant East Indian chair, his sister-in-law sat studying the general situation. The senior surgeon's sister-in-law was always studying something. Last year it was archaeology. The year before, basketry. This year it happened to be eugenics or something funny like that. Next year again it might be book-binding. So you and your pink and white shepherdess are going off on a little trip together. She queried banteringly. The girls ate darling, Linda Cut. I haven't had as much sport in a long time as I had that afternoon last June when I came in my best-calling clothes and helped her paint the kitchen woodwork. And I had come prepared to be a bit nasty, Linda Cut. In all honesty, Linda Cut, I might just as well fuss up that I had come prepared to be just a little bit nasty. She seems to have a way. Smile, the senior surgeon. She seems to have a way of disarming people's unpleasant intentions. A trifle quizzically for an instant the woman turned her face to the senior surgeons. It was a worldly face. A cold-featured, absolutely worldly face with a surprisingly humorous mouth that warmed her nature just about as cheerfully and just about as effectually as one open fireplace warms a whole house. Nevertheless, one often achieved much comfort by keeping clothes to Aunt Agnes's humorous mouth, for Aunt Agnes knew a thing or two. Aunt Agnes did. And the things that she made a point of knowing were conscientiously amiable. Why, Linda Cutfaber? She rallied him now. Why, you're as nervous as a schoolboy. Why, I believe. I believe that you're going courting. More opportunity than any man could have dared to hope, the white linen nurse appeared suddenly on the scene in her little blue-surge wedding suit with her travelling case in her hand. With a gasp of relief the senior surgeon took her case and his own and went on down the path to his car and his chauffeur leaving the two women temporarily alone. When he returned to the piazza the woman of the world and the girl not at all of the world were bidding each other a really affectionate goodbye and the woman's face looked suddenly just a little bit old and girls' cheeks were most inordinately blooming. In unmistakable friendliness his sister-in-law extended her hand to him. Goodbye, Linda Cut old man, she said, and good luck to you. A little slyly out of her shrewd grey eyes she glanced up sideways at him. You've got the devils on temper, Linda Cut dear. She teased. And two or three other vices probably, and if rumour speaks the truth you mock more than once in your life. But there's one thing I will say for you though it prove you a dear stupid you never were over-quick to suspect that any woman could possibly be in love with you. To what woman do you particularly refer? mocked the senior surgeon impatiently. Quite brazenly to her own heart which never yet apparently had stirred the laces that enshrined it his sister-in-law pointed with persistent banter. Maybe I refer to myself, she laughed, and maybe to the only other lady present. Oh! gasped the white linen nurse. You do me much honour, Agnes, bowed the senior surgeon. Quite resolutely he held his gaze from following the white linen nurses quickly averted face. A little oddly for an instant the older woman's glance hung on his. More honour perhaps than you think, Lendicott Faber, she said and kept right on smiling. Eh? jerked the senior surgeon. Restively he turned to the white linen nurse. Very flushingly on the steps the white linen nurse nailed arguing with a little crippled girl. Your father and I are going away, she pleaded. Won't you please kiss us goodbye? I've only got one kiss. Socked the little crippled girl. Give it to your father, pleaded the white linen nurse. Amazingly all in a second the ugliness vanished from the little face. Dartingly, like a bird, the child swooped down and planted one large round kiss on the senior surgeon's astonished boot. Beautiful father! She cried, I kissed your feet. Abruptly the senior surgeon plunged from the step and started down the walk. His cheekbones were quite crimson. Two or three rods behind him the white linen nurse followed falteringly. Once she stopped to pick up a tiny stick or a stone and once she dallied to straighten out a snarled spray of red and brown woodbine. Missing the sound or the shadow of her the senior surgeon turned suddenly to wait. So startled was she by his intentness, so flustered, so frightened that just for an instant the senior surgeon thought that she was going to wheel in her tracks and bolt madly back to the house. Then quite unexpectedly she gave an odd muffled little cry and ran swiftly to him like a child and slipped her bare hand trustingly into his and they went on together to the car. With his foot already half lifted to the step the senior surgeon turned abruptly round and lifted his hat and stood staring back bare-headed for some unexplainable reason at the two silent figures on the piazza. Ray, he said perplexedly, Ray I don't seem to know just why but somehow I'd like to have you kiss your hand to Aunt Agnes. Obediently the white linen nurse withdrew her fingers from his and wafted two kisses one to Aunt Agnes and one to the little crippled girl. Then the white linen nurse and the senior surgeon climbed up into the tunnel of the car where they had never, never sat alone before and the senior surgeon gave a curt order to his men and the big car started off again into interminable spaces. Mutually without a word, without a glanced passing between them the senior surgeon held out his hand to her once more as though the absence of her hand in his was suddenly a lonesomeness not to be endured again while life lasted. Whiz, whiz, whiz. Whurr, whurr, whurr. The ribbony road began to roll up again on that hidden spool under the car. When the chauffeur's mind seemed sufficiently absorbed in speed and sound the senior surgeon bent down a little mockingly and mumbled his lips inarticulately at the white linen nurse. See, he laughed, I've got a text too to keep my courage up. Of course you look like an angel. He teased closer and closer to her flaming face. But all the time to myself, to reassure myself I just keep saying, Bah, she's nothing but a woman, nothing but a woman, nothing but a woman. Within the senior surgeon's warm firm grasp the white linen nurse's calm hand quickened suddenly like a bud forced precipitously into full bloom. Oh, don't talk, sir. She whispered, Oh, don't talk, sir, just listen. Listen, listen to what laughed the senior surgeon. From under the heavy lashes that shadowed the flaming cheeks the soul of the girl who was to be his peered up at the soul of the man who was to be hers and saluted what she saw. Oh, my heart, sir, whispered the white linen nurse. Oh, my heart, my heart, my heart, end of chapter ten, end of the white linen nurse.